A Dark and Stormy Night
by Genji
Summary: My first attempt at a humorous, non-shounen'ai fic. It is the start of what appears to be a four part series. Told from Duo's POV. Only warnings: Language, weirdness


Title: A Dark and Stormy Night  
Part: 1/1  
Date: 26 November, 2000  
Author: Genji (genji_15@excite.com)   
Status: Final  
Archive: If you want it, get your head examined, then LMK  
Category: Ficlet  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: none   
Warnings: Language....humor attempt...perhaps just weirdness....definitely weird.  
Feedback: You know you want to.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Maxwell or Yuy or the OZies...how sad!   
Notes: Ok, this is my first non-angst, non-shounen-ai, an' it's a vain attempt to capture Duo's POV...but I wouldn't go so far as to say it's OOC, it's just dancing on that fine, fine line...oh well, read an' decide for yourself. Also, it was 4 in the morning when I wrote it. I had just taken the dogs out, and it was raining, and so I started with that well known line, and it just took off.   
  
It was a dark and stormy night. Yes, I know that's so cliché. However it was night, and night, by definition is dark. It wouldn't be night otherwise, right? Also, the weatherman himself had said today's weather word was stormy. It's hard to contradict a guy who has cameras pointing at him. I suppose you shouldn't mess with those old writers of yore; they knew their hackneyed opening lines.  
  
It was raining, huge cold raindrops that stole the warmth from your skin and soaked through your clothes in minutes. When you're on the run, nature just seems to turn against you. The only thing I can say for this beastly turn of luck is that it stopped the OZies from finding me. Lazy bastards. But I don't blame them, not really. Hell! If I had a choice I'd be curled up in front of a fire, or maybe asleep under layers and layers of warm, fluffy blankets. I close my eyes and imagine the bright orange-yellow flames licking pine logs. How that wood does crackle- no; that was a stick breaking. I open my eyes. I'm back in this god-forsaken wood, running. I'm always running. Running to something, from something, into something, whatever. It's always the same. Where's your backup when you need him? Another spoiled infiltration attempt. I bet Yuy knew. Probably loves to see me fail, the sadist, so that he can chastise me and then hit a couple of keys on the ol' laptop and bam! The info I'm currently risking my neck for appears on his laptop screen. And he smirks! God, how he sneers like there is no tomorrow! Why did I get stuck with such a guy for a partner? I'm told someone up there has a sense of humor. When the punch line comes along, let me know. I could use a laugh.  
  
Some wandering hunter in an orange coat has mistaken me for a deer. Either that, or the OZies have gotten some pretty new garb. I always thought Trieze had better taste than that awful neon hue. So, I'm supposed to be a deer for this drunken gamer? You try and please everyone. Well, if I stay here, I'll freeze to death. I'll take my chances with this sharpshooter, and perhaps teach him that us young bucks do have some points against the sport of hunting.  
  
I take off my priest collar, thanking some unknown power for convince me to wear my daily sorrow; but I won't go down that painful road. I tie the scrap of white to the branches of a nearby shrug. I don't know the species. I'm no medicine man, an' it's November. Late November. There wouldn't be any leaves to help me identify this plant unknown even if I could. Anyway, I give the branches a shake. The bright young man sees the moving white and shoots in my direction. Yikes! That hick is a good shot. He almost got me. I run in the opposite direction. The fool lets another bullet go after this phantom deer. Won't he be surprised when he goes to pick up his prize?  
  
I scramble through the woods, tearing my clothes, slashing my skin on brambles and thorns. Great! Another set of clothing down the drain. I'm probably driving good ol' Quatre bankrupt with all the clothes I ruin. One of these days I'm going to have to run around in a big plastic garbage bag, with holes torn for my head and arms. I hear those are waterproof. But there goes any concept of stealth. If Dr G were dead, he'd roll over in his grave. Fortunately or unfortunately, he's not, so I can't hear him tossing in his sepulcher [1].  
  
Another gunshot- must be my lucky day! Will this be another hunting party? Damn! The prep parade is here. Those OZies are afraid of soiling their immaculate attire. Against their better judgment, my dear friends have sent out a human patrol to find me, since this copse is too dense to send out their mechanical playthings. Mobile dolls, I mean. If I'm going to be recaptured, might as well get some fun out of it. The dirt's wet- nice and soggy. It's a good ratio of water to earth.  
  
I scoop up some of the gooey mixture and let it fly. Imagine the shouts when Trieze's lackeys find their pristine breaches caked with mud. I can just hear 'em.  
  
"I spent all morning getting the crease just right. Now for all my efforts-"  
  
"I can't bleach mine, the Clorox will just eat, just eat, away at the material."  
  
"Have you tried that stain and odor remover in the laundry room? It smells like roses. I hafta try it out one of these days-"  
  
"You idiot! Une left that out from the time when she was doing Trieze's underwear. I heard that it left some unspeakable spot on the silk. He hasn't spoken to her since. He was livid, simply livid-"  
  
"A bit more than simply livid, I'd say..."  
  
Oh, the comments could go on and on. Unfortunately, my 'rescue' party has decided not to discuss the finer points of laundry and other such tips until after I'venfortunately, my 'rescue' party has decided not to discuss the finer points of laundry and other such tips until after I've been ensnared. Such a pity. I was hoping to find the proper method of separating lights and darks. When I do it, the colors just seem to run together.   
  
I grab another handful of sodden loam and throw it once more at my pursuers. They curse, and I pray for Hermes, patron of thieves, to help me steal through this forest, unseen. I may be raised a Catholic, but I need all the help I can get.  
  
I'm shivering now, like a stubborn leaf still clinging to its branch, trembling in the icy winter's wind. OZ prisons aren't the warmest place on earth, but they sure beat freezing to death in the middle of nowhere. So, I sit and wait and wait, lingering for my trusty posse, who have now decided that they should return to base and wash their pants before any stains set. Just my luck. Murphy's law, don't you think? When I want to get captured, I just can't manage it.  
  
Anyway, I'll tramp my way back to civilization; maybe pick a couple pockets to get something to eat. Don't worry about me; I've spent my entire childhood alone, ok, not alone, but ever since the church incident, well, you get the picture. Point is, I'll make it out ok. I've got Yuy's infernal info, so all I can hope is that it doesn't become corrupted, which might be hard, since it'll be hanging around me for a while. Speak of the devil, he's probably already arranged and assigned himself a search and destroy mission, with me as the target. Oh well, I just can't wait to see his face when I amble in, easy as you please with the data he wanted. I wonder, will he still shoot me then?  
  
[1] Crypt.   
  



End file.
